


Peu à peu

by johnegbert



Category: Homestuck
Genre: :(, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Cuddling, Kissing, M/M, Sadstuck, Suicide Attempt, bUT ONLY ATTEMPT!!!!!, fluffy nonsense sort of!!, its only rated t because of the suicide attempt thats legit isnt it idk, more like contemplated though idk, no beta :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnegbert/pseuds/johnegbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dave, I-"</p>
<p>"I remember how your lips felt when I got to kiss them the first time. John I don't want that to be the last time I kissed you."</p>
<p>There's a loud sound on John's end and it makes you sit up-right; completely alert and your mouth hanging open a little bit. This time, you know you hear the wheels on his chair move, and you think you hear it hit a wall in his room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peu à peu

**Author's Note:**

> { peu à peu   
> (french)  
> \--- adv. 1. bit by bit, little by little }
> 
> a short johndave idea that popped into my head while i was trying to find the motivation to finish my other johndave omg

It's almost 2AM when you get a call from John, and while you think it'd be weird if a school friend called you this late, you realize it's only almost midnight where John is, so you shrug off any thoughts about it. They all come rushing back when you're met with sobs after you hit the send button.

"D-D-D-Dave?" His voice is really hoarse like he's been crying for hours, and all you want to do is try and make him sound better.

"What's wrong, John?" You try to keep your own voice calm. In hopes that the calm will make him calm as well.

He takes in a deep breath before he replies. "Th-the rope is really," another deep breath "really thick and i-itchy."

Your own breath hitches when you realize what he's talking about and you instinctively lurch forward over your desk. "John get down." You say, try to keep the worry out of your voice. Try to sound caring. Try to sound commanding. You're trying too hard.

"I really fucked up th-this time." John stutters, and you imagine him standing on his desk chair. The thought alone makes you worry for him; wheeled chairs are not meant to be stood upon. But you know, without him saying anything else, that he has it far from his desk. Underneath the hook in his ceiling. Where he has apparently hung his death trap of choice. He's probably holding on to the rope, you think. He's probably holding the rope with his left hand, the phone in his right. The noose is probably already tucked around his neck. "I-I only called to say I love you."

"John get down."

"I love you a lot and I-I'm really sorry and-"

"If you fucking love me then get the hell off your chair. And sit the fuck down on your bed."

John gasps, not from your words but from his crying and lack of of air. "I just can't do it anymore Dave!" You think you hear the roll of John kicking his chair, but it turns out to be Bro in the living room. You move from your desk to sit in front of the door on the floor.

The both of you are silent for the moment. Only John's sobs and gasps coming through to you from the other side. Feet slide across the floor as you pull your knees under your chin. Pull your arm around them and rest your cheek on it. There's a bit of wetness making its way to your freckled skin. You're crying too.

There's probably five minutes gone by when John speaks again. "I'm the worst son. Worst person."

You shake your head, even if he can't see it. "You're far from it." He huffs out a humorless laugh. "I'm serious. You're perfect."

"Stop."

"John, please get down."

"Dave, you don't understand."

"Well I guess I don't, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."

His lips make a sound as he tightens them and it goes straight into the receiver. "I don't know how you could." He says and it sounds too honest and it breaks your fucking heart.

There's a million things running through your mind. All the things you want to scream at him because he's an idiot for trying to kill himself. An idiot for thinking he's anything but perfect. A complete and total moron for not seeing the reasons you love him. But the one thing you manage to latch onto is that John didn't call you to say good-bye.

No matter what he says; that is not why he called you.

It's not that you don't think he'd actually go through with it (you hate to say it but you think he really would; if he ever got the guts to refrain from calling you first every time.), you take him very seriously on this subject. But you know he calls you to see if you can talk him out of it. He expects you to talk him out of it. That makes him really fucking shitty, if you're being honest with yourself, but you're really glad he does. He's only called you to do it twice before now. You talked him to sleep both times. You've seen some of the gnarlier scars from the first attempt, from when John decided that cutting wasn't going to do the trick. John doesn't make a lot of commotion about his tendencies. About his problems. Or even about the incidents where he tried. It's not a subject he brings up, or that anyone else brings up.

Rose sometimes talks to you about it; she knows that when John talks about it he will only talk to you. She tries to rub her psychological things on you, tries to get you to talk to John about it from a therapist's point of view. (You know it wouldn't work so you never have.)

You let a sob into the receiver and hold it closer to your mouth. "John, listen." There's shuffling on the other line. "Listen to me. Remember that time that you came to Houston with your Dad and while he was at his big convention you, me, and Bro all went to East Beach in Galveston? We laid in the bed of Bro's truck the entire way back because it was dark by the time we left and we were so tired from fighting the waves on the beach all day. You cuddled up next to me like a fucking girl and fell asleep with your head on my chest. When we got back to the apartment Bro came to wake us up and we were actually spooning. Remember that?"

You think you hear a sad smile in John's voice when he replies with, "I remember."

"I remember it too." You go on. "I remember how it felt to have your warm body against mine. How you felt when your breathing started to slow and you fell asleep. I remember the shade of pink your blush was that night when you asked me if we could sleep together in my room as well."

"Dave, I-"

"I remember how your lips felt when I got to kiss them the first time." Your crying is getting to be even worse than his now, and damn, Strider, when did you become a sack of emotions? "John I don't want that to be the last time I kissed you."

"Dave..."

There's a loud sound on John's end and it makes you sit up-right; completely alert and your mouth hanging open a little bit. This time, you know you hear the wheels on his chair move, and you think you hear it hit a wall in his room. You stand up now, holding the phone even tighter, even closer to your mouth. "John. John. John are you okay? Please tell me you're okay." Your voice is raising, so you know that Bro is going to come to ask you if everything is okay soon. The door pressed against your back once again, you take a few deep breaths before speaking again. "John?"

His phone clatters to the ground, but you can hear him crying again. "Dave, I'm so sorry." He wails. The sickening sound of him sniffing up his clogged up nose rings through his room and you let out probably the biggest sigh of relief ever. "Why do I keep doing this to you! I'm more of a fuck up than I thought. I'm the worst boyfriend ever fucking-" -cough- "-hell!" He wails again, but you hear the phone slide along the floor a little bit. His voice is closer when he says, "I wish you were here to let me sleep on your chest again."

Bro's demanding "Is everything alright in there?" sounds from the other side of your door so you slide down it and hold your hand over the receiver and say "It's fine for now." before pressing your lips to the bottom of your iphone. "I wish I was too."

"Did you just kiss your phone?"

"I'm just relieved."

You're both silent again. John's breathing is returning to normal and so is yours. He picks up the phone, making a smacking noise into it. It makes you smile. "This is really selfish of me to ask but," He coughs a little and continues. "Is there anyway you can come here... like... tonight?"

A glance to the clock hanging by your closet tells you it's about 5AM now. "It's almost morning here, John."

"You're right I'm so-"

"No, it's fine. I doubt Bro would mind."

"Dave you don't-"

"Meet me at the airport, okay?" You say with a smile. "I'm going to kiss you first thing and then we're going to go to sleep and pretend tonight didn't happen."

"Dave..." John gives a whimper that sounds a little sad, but mostly sounds relieved to you.

You kiss the receiver again. "I love you."

And Bro doesn't mind. Bro takes you to the airport and gives you a bit of his fortune from his webpages to get a ticket. He hands you a one-way ticket and a credit card pre-loaded with a couple thousand dollars and says, "Come home when it's time." His shades are pushed up into his hair like yours are because its almost morning, but its still to dark to see outside with the tinted glass in the way. He presses a kiss to your forehead and tells you to call him when you know when you'll be home.

And he leaves.

You stuff the credit card into your wallet and board the plane.

Falling asleep on the way there is something that a lot of the passengers around you are doing, you however are not. You couldn't sleep if you tried to, you are so anxious to get to John to have him safe in your arms once again. You end up sending him a fountain of texts ("im literally on the plane right now" "we just actually took off" "i can see the sun rising holy shit" "check this out john seriously") to keep yourself occupied.

The plane lands in Washington four and a half hours later, and when you step into the airport you see John standing there. Waiting for you. You rush up to him, dropping your carry on bag without the slightest care, and pull him into your arms tightly. He's mumbling "I'm sorry"s into your ear, squeezing you as tightly as you're squeezing him. Quickly, you pull back from him and hold his face. Kissing him hard on the mouth. The kiss he gives to you is just as hard, and your lips already start to feel bruised. When the intensity of the moment has died down, you pull back to press lazy, chaste kisses on his lips, whispering to him that you love him in between each one.

You step back, holding him by his hands, as you give him a once-over. He's wearing the shirt you sent him for his birthday this year (a vintage Aerosmith t-shirt you found at a thrift store in Austin because you know he loves them) and you wonder if he wore it because he was trying to kill himself or because he was coming to meet you here. There's a splash of light pink around the front of his neck, and you know without asking where it's from. You lean back into him and simply press your mouth to the irritated skin, lapping over it gently with your tongue.

"I'm sorry." He says again, his mouth against your hair. "I'm really sorry."

"It's fine." Whispered against his skin. "You're fine. Let's get you to bed, okay Princess?" He nods, and you release him.

Between the two of you, your few bags are loaded into the back of John's Dad's car, and John is driving back to his house. The silence between you is comfortable, because John knows you aren't going to hound him, and you know that he's safe right now. It's practically 10:30AM by the time you get to his house. Your bags are forgotten in the car, the both of you opting to get them later in the evening and sleeping now.

John's room looks like it was straightened out in a hurry; the chair up against the wall (like you thought), the rope of his noose peeking out from behind his pillow, tissues hastily thrown into the trash bin (some next to it like John was shooting from a distance). You make your way to the bed, and yank the rope from its hiding place. Grabbing John by the hand, you guide him to his bathroom and throw the offending thing into the sink. The matchbook in your pocket is revealed and you light one of them and toss it into the sink too.

The fire reflects in John's glasses, and you watch it there rather than in the sink as it over takes and burns the rope. "Intense." He mumbles. You only nod. When the spectacle is over, John takes you back to his bed where he finally chucks off his shoes and climbs in. You're quick to follow him, and when you slide into the bed behind him he turns around to meet you. "I love you." He says, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Don't scare me like that anymore, John." You reply. "I was really afraid for a second."

His lips form the words but you don't want to hear them again so you kiss him. "Shh, just sleep, Princess." And kiss him again. "I love you too." His arms wrap around your waist and pulls you closer to him. He rests his head on your chest.

"Thank you."

"I'll be here as long as you need me." You tell him, your hand threading through his hair. "So sleep now." He nods against you.

John's breathing slows down just like the first time he slept with you. And just like the first time he slept with you, you slide his glasses off his face and set them aside. Your hand stops carding through his hair to find purchase on his neck, tracing the irritated pink skin along the creases.

This boy you love hates himself, even though you can see how perfect he is. It breaks your heart to watch, to listen to. Breaks your heart to get the phone calls. "I want to help." You note when you're sure he's asleep. You take your own glasses off and place them next to his. Kiss him on the top of his head, rub his side affectionately. "I want to make you happy."

You think he smiles when you say it, but you're drifting off before you can tell.


End file.
